


Clytemnestra at Aulis

by Zdenka



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Sapphic verse, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 13:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15462312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: Clytemnestra expresses her grief and fury over Iphigenia’s death.





	Clytemnestra at Aulis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DianaSolaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Клитемнестра в Авлиде](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543297) by [WTF Women 2019 (WTF_Women_2018)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Women_2018/pseuds/WTF%20Women%202019)



> I hope you enjoy this late treat!

Cry aloud, you gulls, in your wailing voices,  
weep, O sea, and to my laments give answer!  
Let the shores of Aulis resound with mourning  
for my lost daughter.

Not of age or illness she died, nor was it  
childbed, often fatal to married women;  
as a sacrifice she was slain by warriors  
eager for glory.

Not for this I brought you to Aulis, dearest,  
but deceived by word of a worthy marriage,  
thinking to adorn you in all your beauty,  
radiant and happy.

Ah, the wreaths I wove to bedeck your bridal  
only served as ornaments to the altar  
where they sent you, maiden and still unwedded,  
down to dark Hades.

Did a father’s heart never stir within him  
when your frightened eyes looked in vain for pity,  
when he heard your voice that he loved imploring,  
broken with weeping?

Noble son of Atreus, Agamemnon,  
have you truly traded away your daughter  
for a breath of wind, for an airy whisper  
light as your promise?

Not one man alone, but they all approved it;  
standing in the temple, the kings and captains  
watched as Calchas lifted the knife, and as it  
flashed swiftly downward.

In the end, not one of those men would save you;  
you were less to them than their crested helmets,  
less than stout ash spears and their gleaming armor,  
chariots and horses.

Like a girl dressed up in her mother’s jewels,  
so the noble, glorious lords of Hellas  
want to get dressed up in their pretty armor—  
nothing must stop them.

They will go and brandish around their weapons,  
fight a little war for Achaea’s glory—  
we, the women, we are the ones who suffer,  
mourning in anguish.

Yet these men know little of women’s spirit;  
do they think us timid, so weak and feeble,  
that a mother seeing her child slaughtered  
simply endures it?

Hear, Demeter, you who once mourned a daughter;  
hear me, dread Persephone and the Furies;  
hear me, Hades, lord of the shades unnumbered:  
favor my vengeance.

Think not Agamemnon will go unpunished;  
here I swear by gods of the dead below us,  
he will pay in blood for this shameful murder,  
for this betrayal.

Go, my lord and husband, command your armies;  
yet, if you return in triumphant glory,  
rich with Trojan gold and with captive women,  
I will be waiting.


End file.
